


Distractions

by f1rstperson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Voice Kink, deserts are hot all the time, pretty public sex, so are cecil and carlos, socially awkward! Carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f1rstperson/pseuds/f1rstperson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos can't focus on his work, because Cecil can't seem to stop talking about Carlos on his show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daftalchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftalchemist/gifts).



> Thank you again to daftalchemist for betaing this and helping motivate me to write this.

Even before arriving in Night Vale, Carlos had always liked to work with the radio on. He enjoyed having a pleasant background noise to ignore while he fiddled around. Later, it became a helpful part of the work environment for those times when one found themselves having a severe panic attack, or an intense existential crisis, or even just a regular case of the mondays. 

He’d always enjoyed that the noise from the radio cleared all the silence from the room. His past co-workers had taken that quiet as an opportunity to chat with him, forcing Carlos to respond in a terse but polite manner. Eventually they would get the hint and leave, but Carlos would spend the rest of the day feeling frustrated and jittery at the time wasted. But when he walked into the lab and turned that dial, no one bothered him at all. The sounds coming from the radio saved him from any distractions, and never tried to muscle his focus away from his research. Of course, like all the other things Carlos had taken for granted, this was not the case in Night Vale.

His very first impression of the town, which he still had written in his journal, was that it was charming, but slightly eccentric, and that the citizens were probably suffering from overactive imaginations and boredom. He found himself retracting this statement in record time, and was forced to mark it as the most grossly inaccurate impression he’d ever made in his life. Night Vale was full of unexplained things, of impossible things, of bizarre and uninvestigated things. 

Carlos could barely sit still, his entire body seemed to hum with energy, enough so that several random people stopped him in the street and offered home remedies for possessions (specifically, possessions by entities of pure energy. The process is different if it’s a demon or a roundworm, apparently). He hadn’t been so inspired in years, and now he had so much work to do. The incredible heat that seemed to come from all directions, pressing down from the sky and rising up from the burning-white concrete didn’t faze him in the least; he felt more awake and focused than ever. 

At the earliest opportunity he called a town meeting with the citizens of Night Vale to discuss his findings on this strange and glorious new place, finishing his speech with a grin that made his face hurt. The residents themselves had looked at him like he talking about how tall their grass should be or what days they should put their recycling out, all of them except one; an excitable blonde man sitting in the back, who’s mouth seem to contain too many teeth. The man introduced himself as Cecil Baldwin, voice of Welcome to Night Vale. He fiddled with the hem of his pants which, Carlos noted, were somehow tweed and sparkly, before hurriedly complemented Carlos on his perfect hair. Carlos schooled his expression; he was used to being a target, had gone through all that in high school. But the not-tall, not-short man, Cecil, that was his name, Cecil just smiled at him, a genuine, soft smile that wrinkled the skin around his eyes and outlined his thin cheeks. Cecil took out a piece of paper and a small paint brush, scrawled down a series of numbers, and then pushed the paper at Carlos, who politely declined what looked like a phone number. But Cecil just smiled again, still soft and with too many teeth, and persisted. After the fourth time Carlos consented, figuring that Cecil would be the first to know if anything unusual happened in town. When Carlos left for home he was still riding a haze of adrenaline. 

He’d kept grinning all throughout the night, and continued the next day, right until he walked into his new laboratory and turned on the radio. The room was immediately filled with what sounded like a cat yowling, but several pitches higher than a cat should be able to pull off. Carlos winced and turned the radio off. He stared at it for a second, and then looked around the room, expecting to catch a shit-eating grin from one of his co-workers. There was nothing. He turned the radio on again and there was that same shrill cat song coming out of the speakers. 

The other stations were all filled with similarly strange programming: the sound of a broken sink in an abandoned house he had once visited as a child, music a butterfly dreams of, blood flowing through capillaries, every Disney song combined and played in reverse. Carlos frowned into his coffee, which was a lot more viscous than a cup of coffee should be. He flipped through the stations for a second time. Then a third time, jabbing the buttons more frantically. Stress bubbled in his chest, poisoning all the excitement that had followed from the day before. He was about to give up and turn off the radio all together when he remembered Cecil. Talk radio wasn’t his favorite thing to work too, but it was far better than the other options.

So instead of isolating himself with music he used Cecil’s voice. Sometimes Cecil would go on strange tangents about Carlos’s hair and face, and Carlos would blush and hide his face in his arms, wondering how he always managed to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. Sometimes at work when answers and understanding illuded Carlos; when he flipped through the same test results again and again and again, gritting his teeth until his jaw ached and straining his eyes for a pattern that just didn’t seem to be there... During those times he’d let his attention drift; he’d hear about Old Woman Josie and her angels and smile softly to himself. He found himself laughing when Cecil was ripping Steve Carlsburg a new one, and trying to figure out what John Peter’s invisible corn tasted like. Carlos realized that he was getting to know Night Vale and its residents without really ever meaning to. 

As much as he could, he tuned out Cecil’s voice and focused on his research. For a while that had worked, until the day he’d woken up in the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex with blood soaking his shirt. He had laid there thinking there was nothing he wanted more than to hear that sweet, low-toned voice. 

After that they started dating, and the radio became just another distraction to Carlos for reasons that had nothing to do with the new subliminal brainwashing messages seeded in the shows. 

Carlos would be checking his latest seismic measurements and suddenly his focus would shift to an image of Cecil curling his lips around certain vowels and consonants as he spoke in those deep, dulcet tones. Or Cecil pausing to run his tongue across his lips, leaving them wet and soft. Or his Adam’s apple dipping and rising as he swallowed, the pale skin of his neck shifting with the motion. Or his lips parting as he drew in quick breaths between sentences. Or the way Cecil would gently suck in his cheek when he was contemplating something, or worry his bottom lip after saying something he shouldn’t have. Carlos was surprised to find he didn’t mind those little mental interruptions as much as he should.

The images Carlos could deal with. There was something pleasant about them, about the way he knew Cecil so well. His real problem was when Cecil would talk about him. The way his name rolled off Cecil’s tongue in that deep, breathy drawl, and the reverence in his voice as he said it, like Carlos was the only star piercing the void sky; it made heat pool in the lower muscles of Carlos’ stomach. He could feel the blood begin to rush to other places as well, and hoped no one noticed. 

On the whole, Carlos thought he had been dealing his sudden Cecil-inspired problems very professionally, and had complimented himself on doing so. “Good job, Carlos,” he had thought to himself, “good job not making all your co-workers uncomfortable.” That was until Monday came along. 

Everything had started out normally. Carlos did his routine and got down to research right away. He focused on his work for hours, not even noticing Cecil’s voice when it finally began drifting through the radio. It wasn’t until he was in the middle of trying to prod grey-clock-ooze onto a microscope slide that he caught Cecil uttering his name. Carlos gave one last half-hearted attempt at moving the ooze before stopping to listen to what Cecil was saying. 

“… I’ve just been sent a picture of one of the infected people right now, folks. There are indeed terrible, gaping holes where their faces used to be, holes that twist and spiral like the many locks of beautiful Carlos’ perfect hair. Of course, Carlos’ gorgeous, silken hair is nothing at all like a horrific spiraling hole that used to be someone’s face…”

At this Carlos jerked, accidently flinging the grey ooze at the wall in the process. In spite of the gory content, Cecil still managed to draw out the sounds in his name like they were a slow drip of honey off a spoon. The scientist fidgeted and blushed as he felt a warm pressure began to settle in his lower belly. He glanced around before hurriedly getting up to grab another clock. As he began prying open the clock’s face Cecil started in again

“… It would seem that all birds in Night Vale have begun speaking the Basque language. Now, don’t get me wrong Night Vale, I do admit it is impressive to see your everyday pigeon learn a new language, and it’s certainly great when any Night Vale resident, avian or not, takes the initiative in learning a foreign language, but I must be honest in my reporting. The sort of squawk-y Basque coming from these birds is nothing compared to hearing perfect Carlos speak Spanish. Listeners, it is a lingual symphony, hearing that breath-taking man roll his r’s. Carlos must have an extremely talented tongue, and I’m sure he’s puts it to very good use, too…”

Carlos found himself shoving the small crowbar right through the clock and, presumably, the grey clock-dwelling ooze inside. His dick twitched, and he could feel it starting to swell. It brushed against the front of his boxers. What the hell was Cecil doing? Mentioning him in stories he was totally irrelevant to, and he wasn’t even going to think about that tongue bit. Carlos adjusted himself covertly and did not let out a quiet, frustrated whimper before returning to his destroyed fake clock.

“… Mall employees have be walking around completely nude. Most are splattered in wet grey paint, and a handful of others are splattered in bright, rainbow colors. Public relations claimed that these employees symbolize, like, the slow euthanasia of creativity in our greedy, money centric society. Mall management came under fire by parents for exposing children to nudity in a public business setting, to which the mall retaliated by saying that the parents were just being small-minded and, like, trying to blind their children to the harsh realities of the world, man. 

I myself went to the Night Vale Mall to see what all the fuss was about. The scene certainly rang of the slow and institutionalized death of creativity. My one problem though, besides the loud sobs from traumatized children, was that all the mall employees who were part of the art were, well, let’s just say they were not as easy on the eyes as a certain new Night Vale Citizen. If you do happen to go down to check out the show, I would suggest mentally exchanging the employees with someone more visually palatable, say, oh, if I were to choose some random example, perhaps Carlos. Carlos, with his salty caramel skin and his luscious, perfect hair, would look much better covered from head to toe in paint. He would look glorious walking around, rivers of paint creeping across his dark skin. Paint would catch on his curly, perfect chest hairs. Droplets would run slowly down his exposed chest, tickling his abs, going all the way down to… Well, you can’t say that on the radio folks, but you can apparently show it off in a public art exhibit at a mall. Anyways, head on down. But actually, don’t think about Carlos naked, because I know who you are and I WILL FIND YOU…”

Carlos briefly wondered if dying from embarrassment was an actual possible thing in Night Vale. Or to die from a massive throbbing erection. Maybe if both events occurred in tandem, depending on the degrees of intensity of both events, and the overall stress capacity of the subject in question. He was a scientist and as such he should really know the answers to those kinds of things. And he would figure them out, right after he marched down to the radio station and fucked Cecil’s mouth, to stop the dirty images spilling from it. 

He’d do it slow at first, circling the head around Cecil’s lips, leaving them wet and glossy, then push forward, slowly, antagonizingly slow. Carlos hunched over his desk and lightly brushed his fingers over the tent in his jeans. And Cecil? He would make delicious, hungry whining noises as Carlos twisted his fingers in his short hair and augh, no. No no no. This was the exact opposite of what he should be doing. He glanced at the beakers and broken fake clocks sitting at his desk, and took a deep, long breath through his nose. He could do this. The day was almost over.

“… The Secret Police would like to remind you to record every dream in your government issued dream journal, and that it would just help them out a bunch if you could analyze them yourselves and write that in the journal too, though not with any illegal writing appliances. ‘I mean seriously, you all have computers, just take ten seconds to Google it. Honestly, we’re not your mothers,’ they said in their press release. Oh, speaking of dreams, you’ll never guess who showed up in my dream last night…”

With that, Carlos shoved the clutter on his desk away and turned off the radio. He glanced around before tucking his erection up into his belt and left hugging his backpack to his stomach. Carlos kept his eyes down to avoid the disapproving gazes of the black clad group of agents spying on him. One of them made a tutting noise at his back as he left, and he felt his face grow impossibly hotter. He told himself and the agents possibly listening to his thoughts that he would text his boss later saying he’d had to leave because he got the stomach flu, or his great aunt died or something. Luckily, his boss was the regular human kind who brought doughnuts to work and talked about teamwork and not the indescribable monster kind who had tentacles and ate interns, so he would probably understand. 

Getting into his car was such an incredible relief, even though the warm leather stuck to his skin and the air inside swarmed around him like heat from an open oven. Carlos squirmed and rubbed at the tent in his pants as Cecil’s smooth voice emanated from the radio. He gripped himself one last time through the fabric and moaned loudly, before shifting the car into drive and speeding towards the radio station. Cecil continued to shoehorn vivid images of Carlos and Carlos’ body into stories that had absolutely nothing to do with him at all. The sun was setting, the bleached blue sky melting into almost neon pinks and oranges, all around him was flat desert sands with a few naked trees and cacti. By the time Carlos arrived at the station parking lot the weather segment had just ended and the sky had turned a dark navy color. He pulled in next to Cecil’s car before getting out and fumbling for his cell-phone. 

Im outside by your car. DONT TELL YOUR LISTENERS ABOUT THIS. 

Carlos sent the message, got out, and leaned against his car. There weren’t many people at the station this late, or any people at the station at all this late, besides Cecil. Didn’t he usually have interns? Then again they did seem to die a lot. Even with the sun down the air was still sweltering, and Carlos could feel sweat pooling at his neck and armpits, sitting heavy on his skin. What was taking Cecil so long? Carlos felt his phone buzz.

k, almost done here, see u in a bit ;) xoxo 

He rolled his eyes, first at Cecil’s flirtation, then at himself, then at his entire life. It looked even more dramatic than it sounded and made his eyes hurt very badly, which is why only a professionally licensed demon wearing a human meat-suit should ever attempt that kind of eye movement. Why had he even come here? He had no idea what his plans were once Cecil walked out that door (okay, a few parts of him had some very intricate plans about what he was going to do when he saw Cecil but the rest of him was not up to speed on that). Carlos swallowed hard, pulling his shirt loose from his pants and running his right hand up his stomach. He arched his back against the car and made a futile attempt at blowing his bangs out of his eyes. 

He was ghosting his fingertips over his upper thighs when Cecil suddenly bounded outside. The lanky radio host was wearing his usual dreamy expression, and smiled as Carlos walked to the station door to greet him.

“Carlos!” he said, “Did you enjoy my show?”

Before Carlos could answer, Cecil pressed his lips to Carlos’, lightly mouthing his bottom lip a few times before pulling back and staring at Carlos eagerly. 

Carlos stood still, his face slack, mind clouded by the low, throbbing ache in his groin. 

“Yes,” he said, stupidly. “I mean, no! Cecil! What the hell were you doing today?”

The second those words left his mouth Carlos regretted it. He expected Cecil to deflate immediately, like he usually did when Carlos spoke without thinking. Instead, Cecil just smirked. All three of his eyes were staring with an almost hungry expression at Carlos. He stepped further into Carlos’ space and grabbed his arms, walking the two of them backwards until Carlos was trapped against his car. Cecil leaned in and whispered into Carlos’ ear. 

“My, you seem flustered today,” he said, his voice slow and dark like molasses, as he ran three bony fingers across the outline of Carlos’ cock. “I wonder what’s got you so worked up.”

“Dammit, Cecil, this isn’t funny!” said Carlos, his face hot and tingling.

Cecil chuckled quietly, the heat from his breath made Carlos’ head swim even more.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he said, all three eyes looking up thoughtfully, “But now that you mention it, funny wasn’t really what I was going for.” 

Before Carlos could say anything Cecil’s lips were on his, locked in a much more intense kiss than the previous one. Carlos pushed his tongue into Cecil’s mouth, and couldn’t stop himself from shivering as it brushed over the sharpened tips of Cecil’s teeth. The metal on the car burned through his shirt, but Carlos hardly even noticed. All he could focus on was the taste of overly-sweetened coffee and something metallic that he couldn’t place as he thrust his tongue into Cecil’s mouth. 

Cecil snuck a hand up Carlos’ shirt, mindlessly rubbing circles around his nipple before flattening his palm and moving down to pet Carlos’ stomach. Carlos groaned into Cecil’s mouth and grasped at his back, rolling his hips in anticipation. Carlos whimpered as Cecil broke away and shifted his head to press a kiss to the end of Carlos’ jaw, just beneath his ear. He gently sucked at the dark skin there, stopping every once in a while to run his tongue across the area. Carlos gave an embarrassingly high-pitched moan and rested his head against Cecil’s, dipping his hands under Cecil’s boxers and grabbing his ass to pull him closer. The radio host smelled like faintly of musky-sweet cologne that had been washed away by sweat from the desert heat; his skin smelled tangy and damp like creosote. Cecil continued his assault on Carlos’ neck, leaving a trail of wet, tingling marks down to the scientist’s collarbone, leaving a cooling trail that contrasted with the warmth thrumming underneath his skin. Carlos let out a shaky breath, pulling his hands out from Cecil’s pants. 

He pressed a knee between Cecil’s legs, his lips stretching into a smile as Cecil moaned against his neck, satisfied to find that Cecil was just as hard as he was. The radio host began frantically thrusting against Carlos’ knee, bracing a hand on the hot metal of the car, but Carlos pulled away. Cecil huffed and dug his nails into the back of Carlos’ neck. 

“You spent all day teasing me over the radio,” Carlos said, panting hard between the words, “Just so you could hump my leg? That’s not really fair.”

“You’re the one who put your leg there,” said Cecil petulantly, his grey-violet eyes looking downward.  
Carlos traced Cecil’s collarbone through his shirt.

“I was investigating. It’s what scientists do.”

Cecil smiled and narrowed all three of his eyes. He pressed his hand against Carlos’ straining erection, ghosting his fingers along the outline of his shaft before settling on his belt buckle.

“Maybe I should do some more... investigating as well. In fact, I think there’s a great deal of experimentation that could be done here,” he said, his voice almost a purr.

Carlos stared into Cecil’s eyes, deeply, passionately, and then dissolved into giggles.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” he said, gasping for air, “You’re such a dork!”

“Shut up,” Cecil growled, throwing open Carlos’ belt buckle and pulling the zipper down. He shoved his hand into Carlos’ boxers, squeezing the warm, smooth skin of Carlos’ swollen cock. Carlos’ laugh turned into a moan as he arched against the car. 

Cecil attacked his neck, pinching Carlos’ skin between his sharp teeth. Carlos whined when Cecil withdrew his hand, grabbed a bottle from his pockets and began to unbuckle his own belt. Carlos was suddenly very aware that he was in a vast parking lot with his dick out and about to be fucked by his boyfriend. Anyone who drove by would be able to see. The thought of someone seeing him like this, sweating and shaking as Cecil poured lube on his dark-purpleish cock made his leg muscles tighten and his own cock twitch. 

Cecil poured lube on the head of Carlos’ cock, spreading it down his cock, before taking both of them in hand and beginning to thrust. Cecil hid his face in Carlos’ shoulder, wrapping his not occupied hand around the scientist’s shoulder and squeezing. Carlos groaned, finally feeling the dull tension that had been filling his lower belly all day start to build as he and Cecil fell into a rhythm that worked. Cecil’s weight against him felt so nice, his damp breaths tickled Carlos’ throat as he squeezed their cocks together. Carlos couldn’t think, he was too distracted by the mounting white-hot feeling in his stomach and the needy sounds Cecil was trying to bite back.

“I-I’m close,” he panted. 

“God, I want to taste you,” Cecil moaned. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me. My fingers don’t do you justice, wish you were fucking me,” He squeezed Carlos’ cock for emphasis. 

Carlos let out a breathy moan.

“Holy shit, Cecil.”

“Are you gonna cum for me, Carlos?” The radio host asked, voice low and raw, rolling Carlos’ name over his tongue slowly.

Carlos’ orgasm caught him like a riptide, his hips moving erratically as warm white streaks of cum hit Cecil’s hand. He sloppily mouthed Cecil’s neck as Cecil continued to thrust, letting out a few desperate whimpers and coming minutes later. Cecil leaned against Carlos, both of them panting in the hot night air. 

“That was perfect, Carlos,” Cecil said, finally, running his hands through Carlos’ sweat soaked hair. 

“Exactly what you wanted?” said Carlos. He then pressed his lips to Cecil’s cheeks and nose.

“Even better.” 

“Good. I’d be glad to do that and more anytime you want, as long as you stop talking about me nonstop on your show.”

Cecil smiled, the sharp points of his teeth catching in the moonlight.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is here if you like: http://f1rstperson.tumblr.com/
> 
> I mostly reblog a lot of NV stuff.


End file.
